


For a Brighter Smile, Try

by sarken



Category: Third Watch
Genre: Break Up, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-19
Updated: 2005-11-19
Packaged: 2017-10-04 12:06:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarken/pseuds/sarken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bosco attempts to lift Faith's spirits after a breakup, but he has a difficult time getting it right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For a Brighter Smile, Try

He takes her out for drinks, but she doesn't get drunk. She has a Coke, no ice, and doesn't say a word. He realizes too late that he was supposed to buy her a pint of Ben &amp; Jerry's, not a pint of beer.

"I'm okay," she says, taking a sip of her soda. The warm carbonation makes her nose tingle. "Can I go home now?"

He rubs his thumb over the label on his beer. The wet paper peels like sunburn. "You just got dumped," he says. Again, the realization comes too late. "Sorry. I shouldn't have said that." He's doing this all wrong. If Faith had girlfriends, he wouldn't be doing this at all.

"Dumped by my fiancé." Sarcasm drips from her cheerful tone. She raises her glass in a mocking toast to herself. Taking another small drink, she says, "Dumped by my boss. My fiancé-slash-boss dumped me."

At least she's bitter, Bosco thinks. He knows he couldn't handle her crying. Guys get bitter, and guys he can deal with. He just needs to think about Faith as a longhaired guy with breasts--like Fred before he lost his hair. The idea makes him chuckle.

All wrong, he realizes. All so very, very wrong.

"I'm glad my dismal love life is a source of amusement for you." Her voice is two steps away from a whine when she says, "Home, Bosco. I want to go home. Now."

If she goes home, she'll find parts of her apartment missing. Miller took the plates, the DVDs, the stereo, the pillows, and the toothpaste. Bosco knows the toothpaste will upset her. She throws the pillow off the bed in her sleep, she doesn't watch DVDs or listen to music, and she eats her meals from take-out containers. The toothpaste is the only thing she'll miss, and she'll miss it as soon as she thinks about going to bed.

"Yeah, sure," he agrees. He doesn't finish his beer, just tosses some money onto the tabletop and stands up. "I gotta stop and get milk on the way."

"Fine." She gets up and puts on her sweater.

He holds the door for her and says, "I wasn't laughing at you, you know. I was..."

She looks at him doubtfully as she walks past. "Sure."

He hurries ahead of her to unlock the car door. He holds that for her, too, and she climbs in.

She looks up at him, his hand on the door. "You really suck at this."

He closes the door and gets in the driver's side.

"I appreciate it, though," she says as he buckles his seatbelt. "Thanks."

He turns the key in the ignition. "Milk," he says, not knowing what else to say.

At 14th Street, he stops in front of an all-night grocery store. "Be right back. Want the heater on?" When she shakes her head, he takes his keys with him and locks the door. He comes back with a paper bag, which he reaches into. "Here," he says, handing Faith a pint of ice cream. "Have at it."

"Problem is I don't have a spoon." She goes to put it back in the bag, but Bosco takes the container from her hand. He removes the lid and leans across the seat to open the glove compartment. Inside is a Swiss army knife, which he uses to cut into the cardboard container. He peels the cardboard back like the skin of an orange.

Faith grins as he passes it back to her. She licks the ice cream that's been exposed, and she laughs softly. "I like your technique," she says. She tears the cardboard back further and offers the ice cream to Bosco.

He nearly crashes the car as he tries to steer and eat ice cream. They laugh and laugh as he pulls into an alley somewhere on the Lower East Side.

Unfastening her seatbelt, Faith turns so her back rests against the door. She draws her knees up to her chest, putting her feet up on the leather interior. "Why are you doing this?" she asks as he passes her the ice cream.

He turns to face her. He'd lie if he hadn't just spent three dollars on butter pecan ice cream in the middle of October. "Because I couldn't be there for you during your divorce."

She shrugs. "That was a long time ago, Bosco. Besides, it's not like you didn't have a good reason." She sinks her teeth into the ice cream and winces when the cold goes directly to her brain. Her hand pressed to her forehead, she says, "You were a good listener when you were... And after you woke up, we talked. I did all right."

"If I had been at work--"

"Bosco, stop. I don't need this tonight." She shoves the ice cream at him, hoping a full mouth will keep him from talking even when she knows his manners aren't that good.

He rests the container on his leg. "Twice, Faith. I wasn't there for you twice. Not when you were paralyzed and not when you got divorced."

She snorts and looks out the windshield. "I thought you were trying to make me feel better. I didn't realize tonight was all about you. Well, you're forgiven. The ice cream really makes up for the way you saved my life."

He looks down at his lap and sighs. The ice cream is melting and running down the sides of the carton, onto his fingers. "Here," he says, passing the mess back to her. He watches as she cleans up the drips with her tongue, her head tilted to the side as she turns the container. She's thinking about something other than the ice cream.

"I threw myself into my work last time," Faith says, setting the carton in a cup holder. "I can't do that this time, not with my ex as my boss."

"Throw yourself into your social life," he suggests. "Go out, meet people. Start something on the rebound. And there's always me."

"You wanna?" She raises an eyebrow, watching him.

"No," he says flatly. He hasn't done anything right since the ice cream, and he tries to soften his refusal with, "You know I don't do that."

"I thought it was just married women," she shoots back, crossing her arms and looking away. She isn't sure why it hurt so much. "Can you take me home now?"

"Home," he repeats, a taxi cab driver confirming the destination. He shifts the car into reverse, thinking about how Faith will always be married because he was in a coma during her divorce.

"I just wanna go to bed." Bosco's efforts to improve her mood have left Faith drained. She no longer has the energy to pretend he isn't making things worse. "I'm tired."

As he drives through the city, numbered avenues give way to named streets and he glances at Faith from time to time. Her eyes are closed and, by the time he stops in front of her building, he thinks she may be asleep. He touches her shoulder lightly. "You're home."

"I know," she says quietly, slowly opening her eyes. "I wasn't asleep."

He's surprised he has forgotten the subtle differences between the sound of her napping and the sound of her ignoring him. "Don't forget your ice cream," he says as she opens the car door.

She sits on the edge of the seat, her feet resting on the curb. "Right," she says, looking up at the dark windows of her apartment. "Ice cream." She makes no move to turn around.

Bosco reaches for the carton of ice cream, placing its narrow bottom on the upside down lid. He also pulls a small box from his grocery bag before he climbs out of the car and walks around to the passenger side. Holding the items out, he asks, "Do you want--"

"No," she answers. "I need to get used to it. Besides, I'm just gonna go to sleep." She turns toward him and smiles when she sees the blue toothpaste box in his hand, right next to the torn container of dripping ice cream. "But thank you," she amends.

He shrugs to say it's no big deal and offers her a hand to pull her to her feet. Standing on the curb, he's three inches taller than her. It's a different perspective than usual.

Faith is still holding his hand when she steps from the street onto the sidewalk. She feels the slight increase in pressure, a brief squeeze, before he lets go and hands her the ice cream and the toothpaste. Having nothing else to say, she turns and walks toward the building in silence.

Bosco pushes his fists down into his pockets and watches as she goes inside, using one hand to search for her keys. When she turns down the corridor that leads to the elevators, Bosco gets back in his car. He sits there, the engine running, until he sees her bedroom window light up. When she walks past while brushing her teeth, Bosco smiles and pulls away from the curb.

 

:end:


End file.
